THE TWO SISTERS
When she was only eight years old, most of the happiness
in Teresa De Fosse's life came from the church. It was like a
sacred flame drawing her to its warmth. She visited the
Chapelle des Penitents Blancs, and prayed at the cathedral in
Monaco and Notre Dame Bon Voyage in Cannes, but most
frequently she attended services at the church in Èze.
Teresa lived in a chateau on a mountain above the
medieval
village Eze near Monte Carlo, overlooking the Cote
d'Azur. The village was perched high on a rock and it seemed
to Teresa that she could look down upon the whole world.
There was a monastery at the top, with rows of houses
cascading down the side of the mountain to the blue
Mediterranean below. Monique, a year younger than Teresa, was
the beauty in the family. Even when she was a child, one
could see that she would grow up to be an exquisite woman.
She had fine-boned features, sparkling blue eyes, and an easy
self-assurance that suited her looks.
Teresa was the ugly duckling. The truth was that the De
Fosses were embarrassed by their elder daughter. If Teresa
had been conventionally ugly, they might have sent her to a
plastic surgeon and had her nose shortened, or her chin
brought forward, or her eyes fixed. But the problem was that
all of Teresa's features were just slightly askew. Everything
seemed out of place, as though she were a comedienne who had
donned her face for laughter.
But if God had cheated her in the matter of looks, He had
compensated for it by blessing her with a remarkable gift.
Teresa had the voice of an angel. It had been noticed the
first time she sang in the church choir. The parishioners
listened in astonishment to the pure, clear tones that came
from the young child. And as Teresa grew older, her voice
grew even more beautiful. She was given all the solos to sing
in church. There, she felt as though she belonged. But away
from church, Teresa was inordinately shy, self-conscious of
her appearance.
At school it was Monique who had all the friends. Boys and
girls alike flocked to her side. They wanted to play with
her, be seen with her. She was invited to all the parties.
Teresa was invited also, but always as an afterthought, the
fulfilling of a social obligation, and Teresa was painfully
aware of it.
"Now, Renee. You can't invite one of the De Fosse children
without the other. It would be bad manners."
Monique was ashamed to have an ugly sister. She felt that
it was somehow a reflection on her.
Their parents behaved properly toward their elder
daughter. They fulfilled their parental duty punctiliously,
but it was obvious that it was Monique they adored. The one
ingredient that Teresa longed for was missing: love.
She was an obedient child, willing and eager to please, a
good student who loved music, history, and foreign languages
and worked hard in school. Her teachers, the servants, and
the townspeople felt sorry for her. As a tradesman said one
day when Teresa left his shop, "God wasn't paying attention
when He made her."
The only place Teresa found love was in the church. The
priest loved her, and Jesus loved her. She went to mass every
morning and made the fourteen stations of the cross. Kneeling
in the cool, vaulted church, she felt God's presence. When
she sang there, Teresa was filled with a sense of hope, and
of expectation. She felt as though something wonderful were
about to happen to her. It was the only thing that made her
life bearable.
Teresa never confided her unhappiness to her parents or
her sister, for she did not want to burden them, and she kept
to herself the secret of how much God loved her and how much
she loved God.
Teresa adored her sister. They played together in the
estate grounds surrounding their chateau, and she let Monique
win the games they played. They went exploring together, down
the steep stone steps cut into the mountain to Èze Village
below, and wandered down the narrow streets of shops to watch
the artists in front selling their wares.
As the girls grew into their teens, the predictions of the
villagers came true. Monique grew more beautiful and the boys
came flocking around her, while Teresa had few friends and
stayed at home sewing or reading or went shopping in the
village.
As Teresa passed the drawing room one day, she heard her
mother and father having a discussion about her.
"She's going to be an old maid. We're going to have her on
our hands all our lives."
"Teresa will find someone. She has a very sweet
disposition."
"That's not what the young men of today are after. They
want someone they can enjoy having in their bed."
Teresa fled.
Teresa still sang in church on Sundays, and because of
that an event occurred that promised to change her life. In
the congregation was a Madame Neff, the aunt of a
radio-station director in Nice.
She stopped to speak to Teresa one Sunday morning.
"You're wasting your life here, my dear. You have an
extraordinary voice. You should be using it."
"I am using it. I—"
"I'm not talking about,"—she looked around the
church—"this. I'm talking about your using your voice
professionally. I pride myself on knowing talent when I hear
it. I want you to sing for my nephew. He can put you on the
radio. Are you interested?"
"I—I don't know." The very thought of it terrified Teresa.
"Talk it over with your family."
"I think it's a wonderful idea," Teresa's mother said. "It
could be a good thing for you," her father agreed. It was
Monique who had reservations about it. "You're not a
professional," she said. "You could make a fool of yourself."
Which had nothing to do with Monique's reasons for trying to
discourage her sister. What Monique was afraid of was that
Teresa would succeed. Monique was the one who had always been
in the limelight. It's not fair, she thought, that God should
have given Teresa a voice like that. What if she should
become famous? I would be left out, ignored.
And so Monique tried to persuade her sister not to
audition.
But the following Sunday at church, Madame Neff stopped
Teresa and said, "I've talked to my nephew. He is willing to
give you an audition. He's expecting you on Wednesday at
three o'clock."
And so it was that the following Wednesday a very nervous
Teresa appeared at the radio station in Nice and met the
director.
"I'm Louis Bonnet," he said curtly. "I can give you five
minutes."
Teresa's physical appearance only confirmed his worst
fears. His aunt had sent him talent before.
I should tell her to stick to her kitchen. But he knew
that he would not. The problem was that his aunt was very
rich, and he was her only heir.
Teresa followed Louis Bonnet down a narrow hallway into a
small broadcast studio.
"Have you ever sung professionally?"
"No, sir." Her blouse was soaked with perspiration. Why
did I ever let myself get talked into this? Teresa wondered.
She was in a panic, ready to flee.
Bonnet placed her in front of a microphone. "I don't have
a piano player around today, so you're going to have to sing
a cappella. Do you know what a cappella means?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wonderful." He wondered, not for the first time, if his
aunt was rich enough to make all these stupid auditions
worthwhile.
"I'll be in the control booth. You'll have time for one
song."
"Sir—what shall I—?"
He was gone. Teresa was alone in the room staring at the
microphone in front of her. She had no idea what she was
going to sing. "Just go and meet him," his aunt had said.
"The station has a musical program every Saturday evening
and…"
I've got to get out of here.
Louis's voice came out of nowhere. "I don't have all day."
"I'm sorry. I can't—"
But the director was determined to punish her for wasting
his time.
"Just a few notes," he insisted. Enough so he could report
to his aunt what a fool the girl had made of herself. Perhaps
that would persuade her to stop sending him her proteges.
"I'm waiting," he said.
He leaned back in his chair and lit a Gitane. Four more
hours to go. Yvette would be waiting for him. He would have
time to stop off at her apartment before he went home to his
wife. Maybe there would even be time to—
He heard it then, and he could not believe it. It was a
voice so pure and so sweet that it sent chills down his
spine. It was a voice filled with longing and desire, a voice
that sang of loneliness and despair, of lost loves and dead
dreams, and it brought tears to his eyes. It stirred emotions
in him that he had thought were long since dead. All he could
say to himself was, Jesus Christ! Where has she been?
An engineer had wandered into the control booth, and he
stood there listening, mesmerized. The door was open and
others began to come in, drawn by the voice. They stood there
silently listening to the poignant sound of a heart
desperately crying out for love, and there was not another
sound in the room.
When the song ended, there was a long silence, and one of
the women said, "Whoever she is, don't let her get away."
Louis Bonnet hurried out of the room into the broadcast
studio. Teresa was getting ready to leave.
"I'm sorry I took too long. You see, I've never—"
"Sit down, Maria."
"Teresa."
"Sorry." He took a deep breath. "We do a musical radio
broadcast every Saturday night."
"I know. I listen to it."
"How would you like to be on it?"
She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"You mean—you want to hire me?"
"Beginning this week. We'll start you at the minimum. It
will be a great showcase for you."
It was almost too good to be true. They're going to pay me
to sing.
"Pay you? How much?" Monique asked.
"I don't know. I don't care." The important thing is that
somebody wants me, she almost said, but she stopped herself.
"That's wonderful news. So you're going to be on the
radio!" her father said.
Her mother was already making plans. "We'll see that all
our friends listen, and we'll have them send in letters
saying how good you are."
Teresa looked at Monique, waiting for her to say, "You
don't have to do that. Teresa is good."
But Monique said nothing. It will blow over quickly, was
what she was thinking.
She was wrong.
Saturday night at the broadcast station, Teresa was in a
panic.
"Believe me," Louis Bonnet assured her. "It's perfectly
natural. All artists go through this."
They were seated in the small green room used by
performers.
"You're going to be a sensation."
"I'm going to be sick."
"There's no time. You're on in two minutes."
Teresa had rehearsed that afternoon with the small
orchestra that was going to accompany her. The rehearsal had
been extraordinary. The stage from which they broadcast was
crowded with station personnel who had heard about the young
girl with the incredible voice. They listened in awed silence
as Teresa rehearsed the songs she was going to sing on the
air. There was no question in any of their minds but that
they were witnessing the birth of an important star.
"It's too bad she's not better-looking," a stage manager
commented, "but in radio who can tell the difference?"
Teresa's performance that evening was superb. She was
aware that she had never sung better. And who knew where this
could lead? She might become famous and have men at her feet,
begging her to marry them. As they begged Monique.
As though reading her thoughts, Monique said, "I'm really
happy for you, Sis, but don't let yourself get carried away
by all this. These things never last."
This will, Teresa thought happily. I'm finally a person.
I'm somebody.
Monday morning, there was a long-distance telephone call
for Teresa.
"It's probably somebody's idea of a joke," her father
warned her. "He says he's Jacques Raimu."
The most important stage director in France. Teresa picked
up the telephone, wary. "Hello?"
"Miss De Fosse?"
"Yes."
"Teresa De Fosse?"
"Yes."
"This is Jacques Raimu. I heard your radio program
Saturday night. You're exactly what I'm looking for."
"I—I don't understand."
"I'm staging a play at the Comedie Francaise, a musical. I
start rehearsals next week. I've been searching for someone
with a voice like yours. To tell you the truth, there is no
one with a voice like yours. Who is your agent?"
"Agent? I—I have no agent."
"Then I'll drive down there and we'll work out a deal
between us."
"Monsieur Raimu—I—I'm not very pretty." It was painful for
her to say the words, but she knew that it was necessary. He
mustn't have any false expectations.
He laughed. "You will be when I get through with you.
Theater is make-believe. Stage makeup can do all kinds of
incredible magic."
"But—"
"I'll see you tomorrow."
It was a dream on top of a fantasy. To be starring in a
play by Raimu!
"I'll work out the contract with him," Teresa's father
said. "You must be careful when you deal with theater
people."
"We must get you a new dress," her mother said. "And I'll
invite him to dinner."
Monique said nothing. What was happening was unbearable.
It was unthinkable that her sister was going to become a
star. Perhaps there was a way…
Monique saw to it that she was the first one downstairs
when Jacques Raimu arrived at the De Fosse villa that
afternoon. He was greeted by a young girl so beautiful that
his heart jumped. She was dressed in a simple white afternoon
frock that set off her figure to perfection.
My God, he thought. Those looks and that voice! She's
perfect. She's going to be an enormous star.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you," Raimu said.
Monique smiled warmly. "I'm very happy to meet you. I'm a
big admirer of yours, Monsieur Raimu."
"Good. Then we'll work well together. I brought a script
with me. It's a beautiful love story, and I think—"
At that moment Teresa walked into the room. She was
wearing a new dress, but she looked awkward in it. She
stopped as she saw Jacques Raimu.
"Oh—hello. I didn't know you were here. I mean— you're
early."
He looked at Monique inquiringly.
"This is my sister," Monique said. "Teresa."
They both watched the expression on his face change. It
went from shock to disappointment to disgust.
"You're the singer?"
"Yes."
He turned to Monique. "And you're—"
Monique smiled innocently. "I'm Teresa's sister."
Raimu turned to examine Teresa again, then shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said to Teresa. "You're too—" He fumbled for
a word. "You're too—young. If you'll excuse me, I must get
back to Paris."
And they stood there watching him walk out the door.
It worked, Monique thought jubilantly. It worked.
Teresa never made another broadcast. Louis Bonnet pleaded
with her to come back, but the hurt was too deep.
After looking at my sister, Teresa thought, how could
anyone want me? I'm so ugly.
As long as she lived, she would never forget the look on
Jacques Raimu's face.
It's my fault for having silly dreams, Teresa told
herself. It's God's way of punishing me.
After that, Teresa would sing only in church, and she
became more of a recluse than ever.
During the next ten years the beautiful Monique turned
down more than a dozen marriage proposals. She was proposed
to by the sons of the mayor, the banker, the doctor, the
merchants in the village. Her suitors ranged from young men
fresh out of school to established and successful men in
their forties and fifties. They were rich and poor, handsome
and ugly, educated and uneducated. And to all of them Monique
said non.
"What are you looking for?" her father asked, baffled.
"Papa, everyone here is boring. Èze is such an
unsophisticated place. My dream prince is in Paris."
And so her father dutifully sent her to Paris. As an
afterthought, he sent Teresa with her. The two girls stayed
at a small hotel on the Bois de Boulogne.
Each sister saw a different Paris. Monique attended
charity balls and glamorous dinner parties and had tea with
titled young men. Teresa visited Les Invalides and the
Louvre. Monique went to the races at Longchamp and to galas
at Malmaison. Teresa went to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to
pray, and walked along the tree-shaded path of the Canal St.
Martin. Monique went to Maxim's and the Moulin Rouge, while
Teresa strolled along the quays, browsing among the book
stalls and the flower vendors and stopping at the Basilica of
St. Denis. Teresa enjoyed Paris, but as far as Monique was
concerned, the trip was a failure.
When they returned home, Monique said, "I can't find any
man I want to marry."
"You met no one who interested you?" her father asked.
"Not really. There was a young man who took me to dinner
at Maxim's. His father owns coal mines."
"What was he like?" her mother asked eagerly.
"Oh, he was rich, handsome, polite, and he adored me."
"Did he ask you to marry him?"
"Every ten minutes. Finally I simply refused to see him
again."
Her mother stared at Monique in amazement. "Why?"
"Because all he could talk about was coal: bituminous
coal, lump coal, black coal, gray coal. Boring, boring,
boring."
The following year Monique decided she wanted to return to
Paris again.
"I'll pack my things," Teresa said.
Monique shook her head. "No. This time I think I'll go
alone."
So while Monique went to Paris, Teresa stayed home and
went to church every morning and prayed that her sister would
find a handsome prince. And one day the miracle occurred. A
miracle because it was to Teresa that it happened. His name
was Raoul Giradot.
He had gone to Teresa's church one Sunday and heard her
sing. He had never heard anything like it before. I must meet
her, he vowed.
Early Monday morning, Teresa stopped in at the village
general store to buy fabric for a dress she was making. Raoul
Giradot was working behind the counter.
He looked up as Teresa walked in, and his face lit up.
"The voice!"
She stared at him, flustered. "I—I beg your pardon?"
"I heard you sing in church yesterday. You are
magnificent."
He was handsome and tall, with intelligent, flashing dark
eyes and lovely, sensual lips. He was in his early thirties,
a year or two older than Teresa.
Teresa was so taken aback by his appearance that she could
only stammer. She stared at him, her heart pounding.
"Th—thank you," Teresa said."I—I—I would like three yards of
muslin, please."
Raoul smiled. "It will be my pleasure. This way."
It was suddenly difficult for Teresa to concentrate on her
errand. She was overpoweringly aware of the young man's
presence, his good looks and charm, the masculine aura
surrounding him.
When Teresa had decided on her purchase and Raoul was
wrapping it for her, she dared to say, "You're— you're new
here, aren't you?"
He looked at her and smiled, and it sent shivers through
her.
"Oui. I arrived in Èze a few days ago. My aunt owns this
shop and she needed help, so I thought I would work here for
a while."
How long is a while? Teresa found herself wondering.
"You should be singing professionally," Raoul told her.
She remembered the expression on Raimu's face when he had
seen her. No, she would never risk exposing herself publicly
again. "Thank you," Teresa mumbled.
He was touched by her embarrassment and shyness, and tried
to draw her into conversation.
"I haven't been to Èze before. It's a beautiful little
town."
"Yes," Teresa mumbled.
"Were you born here?"
"Yes."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes."
Teresa picked up her package and fled.
The following day she found an excuse to go back to the
shop again. She had stayed up half the night preparing what
she was going to say to Raoul.
I'm glad you like Èze…
The monastery was built in the fourteenth century, you
know…
Have you ever visited Saint-Paul-de-Vence? There's a
lovely chapel there…
I enjoy Monte Carlo, don't you? It's wonderful to have it
so close to here. Sometimes my sister and I drive down the
Grande Corniche and go to the Fort Antoine Theatre. Do you
know it? It's the big open-air theater…
Did you know that Nice was once called Nikaia? Oh, you
didn't? Yes, it was. The Greeks were there a long time ago.
There's a museum in Nice with the remains of cavemen who
lived there thousands of years ago. Isn't that interesting?
Teresa was prepared with dozens of such verbal gambits.
Unfortunately, the moment she walked into the shop and saw
Raoul, everything flew out of her head. She simply stared at
him, unable to speak.
"Bonjour," Raoul said cheerfully. "It's nice to see you
again, Mademoiselle De Fosse."
"M—merci." She felt like an idiot. I'm thirty years old,
she told herself, and I'm acting like a silly schoolgirl.
Stop it.
But she could not stop it.
"And what may I do for you today?"
"I—I need more muslin."
Which was the last thing she needed.
She watched Raoul as he went to get the bolt of fabric. He
set it on the counter and started to measure it out.
"How many yards would you like?"
She started to say two, but what came out was, "Are you
married?"
He looked up at her with a warm smile on his face. "No,"
he said. "I haven't been that fortunate yet."
You are going to be, Teresa thought. As soon as Monique
returns from Paris.
Monique was going to adore this man. They were perfect for
each other. The thought of Monique's reaction when she met
Raoul filled Teresa with happiness. It would be lovely to
have Raoul Giradot as her brother-in-law.
The following day as Teresa was passing the shop, Raoul
caught sight of her and hurried outside.
"Good afternoon, mademoiselle. I was about to take a
break. If you're free, would you care to join me for tea?"
"I—I—yes, thank you."
She was tongue-tied in his presence, and yet Raoul could
not have been more pleasant. He did everything he could to
put her at ease, and soon Teresa found herself telling this
stranger things she had never told anyone before. They talked
of loneliness.
"Crowds can make one lonely," Teresa said. "I always feel
like an island in a sea of people."
He smiled. "I understand."
"Oh, but you must have so many friends."
"Acquaintances. In the end, does anyone really have many
friends?"
It was as though she were speaking to a mirror image. The
hour melted away quickly, and soon it was time for him to go
back to work.
As they rose, Raoui asked, "Will you join me for lunch
tomorrow?"
He was being kind, of course. Teresa knew that no man
could ever be attracted to her. Especially someone as
wonderful as Raoul Giradot. She was sure that he was kind to
everyone.
"I would enjoy that," Teresa said.
When she went to meet Raoul the following day, he said
boyishly, "I've been given the afternoon off. If you're not
too busy, why can't we drive down to Nice?"
They drove along the Moyenne Corniche with his car top
down, the city spread out like a magic carpet below them.
Teresa leaned back in her seat and thought: I've never been
so happy. And then, filled with guilt: I'm being happy for
Monique.
Monique was to return from Paris the following day. Raoul
would be Teresa's gift to her sister. She was realistic
enough to know that the Raouls of the world were not for her.
Teresa had had enough pain in her life, and she had long
since learned what was real and what was impossible. The
handsome man seated beside her driving the car was an
impossible dream she dared not even let herself think about.
They had lunch at Le Chantecler in the Negresco Hotel in
Nice. It was a superb meal, but afterward Teresa had no
recollection of what she had eaten. It seemed to her that she
and Raoul had not stopped talking. They had so much to say to
each other. He was witty and charming, and he appeared to
find Teresa interesting—really interesting. He asked her
opinion about many things and listened attentively to her
answers. They agreed on almost everything. It was as though
they were soul mates. If Teresa had any regrets about what
was about to happen, she resolutely forced them out of her
mind.
"Would you like to come to dinner at the chateau tomorrow
night? My sister is returning from Paris. I would like you to
meet her."
"I'd be delighted, Teresa."
When Monique returned home the following day, Teresa
hurried to greet her at the door.
In spite of her resolve, she could not help asking, "Did
you meet anyone interesting in Paris?" And she held her
breath, waiting for her sister's answer.
"The same boring men," Monique replied.
So God had made the final decision.
"I've invited someone to dinner tonight," Teresa said. "I
think you're going to like him."
I must never let anyone know how much I care for him,
Teresa thought.
That evening at seven-thirty promptly, the butler ushered
Raoul Giradot into the drawing room, where Teresa, Monique,
and their parents were waiting.
"This is my mother and father. Monsieur Raoul Giradot."
"How do you do?"
Teresa took a deep breath. "And my sister, Monique."
"How do you do?" Monique's expression was polite, nothing
more.
Teresa looked at Raoul, expecting him to be stunned by
Monique's beauty.
"Enchanted." Merely courteous.
Teresa stood there holding her breath, waiting for the
sparks that she knew would start flying between them. But
Raoul was looking at Teresa.
"You look lovely tonight, Teresa."
She blushed and stammered, "Th—thank you."
Everything about that evening was topsy-turvy. Teresa's
plan to bring Monique and Raoul together, to watch them get
married, to have Raoul as a brother-in-law—none of it even
began to happen. Incredibly, Raoul's attention was focused
entirely on Teresa. It was like some impossible dream come
true. She felt like Cinderella, only she was the ugly sister
and the prince had chosen her. It was unreal, but it was
happening, and Teresa found herself struggling to resist
Raoul and his charm because she knew that it was too good to
be true, and she dreaded being hurt again. All these years
she had hidden her emotions, guarding against the pain that
came with rejection. Now, instinctively, she tried to do the
same. But Raoul was irresistible.
"I heard your daughter sing," Raoul said. "She is a
miracle!"
Teresa found herself blushing.
"Everyone loves Teresa's voice," Monique said sweetly.
It was a heady evening. But the best was yet to come.
When dinner was finished, Raoul said to Teresa's parents,
"Your grounds look lovely." Then he turned to Teresa. "Would
you show me the gardens?"
Teresa looked over at Monique, trying to read her sister's
emotions, but Monique seemed completely indifferent.
She must be deaf, dumb, and blind, Teresa thought.
And then she recalled all the times Monique had gone to
Paris and Cannes and St. Tropez looking for her perfect
prince but had never found him.
So it's not the fault of the men. It's the fault of my
sister. She has no idea what she wants.
Teresa turned to Raoul. "I would love to."
Outside, she could not let the subject drop.
"How did you like Monique?"
"She seems very nice," Raoul replied. "Ask me how I like
her sister."
And he took her in his arms and kissed her.
It was like nothing Teresa had ever experienced before.
She trembled in his arms, and she thought: Thank you, God.
Oh, thank you.
"Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?" Raoul
asked.
"Yes," Teresa breathed. "Oh, yes."
When the two sisters were alone, Monique said, "He really
seems to like you."
"I think so," Teresa said shyly.
"Do you like him?"
"Yes."
"Well, be careful, big sister," Monique laughed. "Don't
get in over your head."
Too late, Teresa thought helplessly. Too late.
Teresa and Raoul were together every day after that.
Monique usually chaperoned them. The three of them walked
along the promenades and beaches at Nice and laughed at the
wedding-cake hotels. They lunched at a charming bistro at Cap
d'Antibes, and visited the Matisse chapel in Vence. They
dined at the Chateau de la Chevre d'Or, and at the fabulous
La Ferme St. Michel. One morning at five A.M. the three of
them went to the open farmer's market that rilled the streets
of Monte Carlo and bought fresh breads and vegetables and
fruit.
Sundays, when Teresa sang in church, Raoul and Monique
were there to listen, and afterward Raoul would hug Teresa
and say, "You really are a miracle. I could listen to you
sing for the rest of my life."
Four weeks after they met, Raoul proposed.
"I'm sure you could have any man you want, Teresa," Raoul
said, "but I would be honored if you chose me."
For one terrible moment Teresa thought he was ridiculing
her, but before she could speak, he went on.
"My darling, I must tell you that I have known many women,
but you are the most sensitive, the most talented, the
warmest…"
Each word was music to Teresa's ears. She wanted to laugh;
she wanted to cry. How blessed I am, she thought, to love and
be loved.
"Will you marry me?"
And her look was answer enough.
When Raoul left, Teresa went flying into the library where
her sister, mother, and father were having coffee.
"Raoul asked me to marry him." Her face was glowing, and
there was almost a beauty about her.
Her parents stared at her, stunned. It was Monique who
spoke.
"Teresa, are you sure he's not after the family money?"
It was like a slap in the face.
"I don't mean that unkindly," Monique went on, "but it all
seems to be happening so fast."
Teresa was determined not to let anything spoil her
happiness. "I know you want to protect me," she told her
sister, "but Raoul has money. His father left him a small
inheritance, and he's not afraid to work for a living." She
took her sister's hand in hers and begged, "Please be glad
for me, Monique. I never thought I'd know this feeling. I'm
so happy, I could die."
And then the three of them embraced her and told her how
pleased they were for her, and they began to talk excitedly
about plans for the wedding.
Very early the next morning Teresa went to church and
knelt to pray.
Thank You, Father. Thank You for giving me such happiness.
I will do everything to make myself worthy of Your love and
of Raoul's. Amen.
Teresa walked into the general store, her feet above the
ground, and said, "If you please, sir, I would like to order
some material for a wedding gown."
Raoul laughed and took her in his arms. "You're going to
make a beautiful bride."
And Teresa knew he meant it. That was the miracle.
The wedding was set to take place a month later in the
village church. Monique, of course, was to be the maid of
honor.
At five o'clock Friday afternoon, Teresa spoke to Raoul
for the last time. At twelve-thirty Saturday, standing in the
church vestry waiting for Raoul, who was thirty minutes late,
Teresa was approached by the priest. He took her arm and led
her aside, and she wondered at his agitation. Her heart began
to pound.
"What is it? Is something wrong? Has anything happened to
Raoul?"
"Oh, my dear," the priest said. "My poor, dear Teresa."
She was beginning to panic. "What is it, Father? Tell me!"
"I—I just received word a moment ago. Raoul—"
"Is it an accident? Was he hurt?"
"—Giradot left town early this morning."
"He what? Then some emergency must have come up to make
him—"
"He left with your sister. They were seen taking the train
to Paris."
The room began to whirl. No, Teresa thought. I mustn't
faint. I mustn't embarrass myself in front of God.
She had only a hazy memory of the events that followed.
From a far distance she heard the priest make an announcement
to the wedding party, and she dimly heard the uproar in the
church.
Teresa's mother put her arms around her daughter and said,
"My poor Teresa. That your own sister could be so cruel. I'm
so sorry."
But Teresa was suddenly calm. She knew how to make
everything all right.
"Don't worry, Mama. I don't blame Raoul for falling in
love with Monique. Any man would. I should have known that no
man could ever love me."
"You're wrong," her father cried. "You're worth ten of
Monique."
But his compassion came years too late.
"I would like to go home now, please."
They made their way through the crowd. The guests at the
church moved aside to let them pass, staring silently after
them.
When they returned to the chateau, Teresa said quietly,
"Please don't worry about me. I promise you that everything
is going to be fine."
Then she went up to her father's room, took out his razor,
and slashed her wrists.
NOTE:
This is a fragment (Chapter Eleven) from the New York Times bestselling novel, 'The Sands of Time' by Sidney Sheldon, perhaps the most popular thriller writer of US. The novel, set in Spain, deals with the lives and adventures of four nuns who suddenly found themselves exposed in a hostile world which they left long ago and became a pawn in the deadly enmity between Colonel Acoca of Spanish Government and Jaime Mero, the leader of the rebel Basques. This fragment tells the early life of Sister Teresa (one of the nuns) and the circumstances that led her to choose her life as a nun. It bears the stamp of a masterly craftsmanship by a favourite story-teller.
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